Jacked & Jaded
by HapaDoll
Summary: Down on his luck and home to lick the wounds, a dispirited Jack in recovery struggles to find joy and laughter again. An old foe unexpectedly becomes a sliver of hope before he splits town, but the last thing he wanted was another tie to Detroit. A new threat for the Mercers arise when Gideon Sweet claims his uncle's territory and Bobby takes him on without his brothers. JackღOC
1. Reminiscence

**JACKED & JADED**

 **Rating 》 T-M for Profanity, Adult Situations, Violence and Sexual Content**

 **Pairing** **》 Jack/OC**

 **Disclaimer 》 Fandoms, canons, music, references and source material are not mine, but this plot is. No monetary profit made.**

 **Author's Note 》 For fanart, fanmixes and fanvids, go to** **hapadoll,wixsite,com** **/hapadoll (replace , with . )**

* * *

 **1\. Reminiscence**

His voice was a panty dropper.

Judging by the wave of enthused screams that filled the crowded auditorium, she wasn't embellishing. Lots of young women were in complete concurrence. The man had fans.

She hadn't seen him since graduation four years ago. They'd never really been friends but she knew exactly who he was. The Mercer name carried a certain weight and reverence with it, in all classes.

When she'd walked into work that evening, her attention averted from her usual greetings to tonight's guest act, sat front and center with his acoustic guitar on his lap. It was a surprise to see her former classmate - the reserved, mysterious boy she'd once known in passing looking dapper in rock star garb with a rock star persona.

The music scene wasn't one she'd expect him to be interested in. Guess he'd found his niche after high school which was more than she could say.

The gaze she had on him hadn't faltered, like a peacock whose eyes are inclined to its tail.

She hoped he wouldn't sense her staring with such earnest intent, like he could somehow spot her from a crowd. This is how it used to be. Whenever she'd catch him looked back at her, she'd turn away.

Reading between the lines at the risk of him being another good-looking guy with a guitar, she allowed his lyrics and melodic voice to speak for themselves.

 _'How can you say that your truth is better than ours?_

 _Shoulder to shoulder, now brother, we carry no arms_

 _And the blind man sleeps in the doorway, his home_

 _If only I had an enemy bigger than my apathy I could have won'_

She never knew he was capable of words so deep and thought provoking that carried so many interpretations and references. They would make beautiful poetry without music. He knew how to make you cry. She realized his career wasn't a fluke. He was in it for a reason. He was genuinely talented and it blew her mind.

"Hey girl, we going to get ready?"

Cutting her hazel eyes and thoughts from Jack, she redirected her attention to the petite brunette who'd nudged her harder than she'd liked. Cora.

"Yeah, sorry, I got distracted for a second. I know that guy," she explained to her co-worker, nodding in Jack's direction. "Well, kind of, we went to high school together."

Small Cora pursed her peach flavored lips in intrigue and prodded the taller dark haired beauty.

"Did you two rock the casbah, sink the sausage?" Subtle.

"No."

"You should," advised Cora adamantly, like it was a golden piece of advice she'd given her younger friend.

The younger girl shrugged, brushing off the uncomfortable direction the conversation had taken and spoke bluntly, unashamed of her intentions.

"Wouldn't be opposed to it. Not the way you said it..." she dismissed, causing Cora to roll her doe eyes and continued. "But I don't really know him that well, so don't make any awkward comments tonight. I'm just going to quickly say hi to him when his set's done and we'll go on with our lives. Let's just go get ready. I need your help with my lashes."

The two changed courses, led by Cora pushing a path through as they moved past the crowd towards backstage and entered the security code for the keyless entry when prompted. Jack's velvety rich voice carried over the sound system. He was explaining where he came up with the song he was about to introduce and the significance it held. He was a few feet from them, on the other side of the dark curtain. With the lights lowered, they could barely make out a hand as they navigated from memory towards their dressing room, pausing in greetings when they passed others.

Distracted, she slammed her shin full force into a sharp corner of a tool box, left in the dark for unsuspecting victims. One of the lovely deck hands must've left it there accidentally.

"Tater Tits!" she cried, louder than she should have.

Cora whipped around with a perfect 'O' mouth formation and subdued the ruckus by pulling the hobbling girl into their room and pressing a cold drink to her friend's leg.

They dumped their belongings; purses, makeup cases, and plastic grocery baggies on the vanity counter before shrugging out of their jackets and started prettying up as best you could with an iced tea strapped your body.

* * *

A half hour later the girls sat at the bar, joined by two more, Lacey and Jess, who'd never been as punctual. Their makeup set with their favorite violet poudre, they snacked on bar nuts and club soda through bendy straws to maintain their perfectly applied lipstick. They'd only need to throw on their costumes closer to curtain call.

They were enjoying their usual routine of watching the preceding act. Good music was a perk of working at such a renowned venue.

"Skyscraper's a fox," Lacey noted, referencing the tallest Mercer.

Cora agreed. "That's what I said! Although, I do prefer my men a little less Jolly Green Giant."

"That's because you're a midget," laughed Jade, tossing a peanut Cora's direction, prompting a dramatic mock response about allergies she didn't have.

"I honestly don't get the fangirling. I just don't see what's so attractive about him."

The other three turned to Jess's direction, who'd make the last comment, dumbfounded. To each their own.

"I guess drop dead sexy's not everybody's type," replied Lacey who clearly converted.

Keeping an eye on the time, it was expected when Jack announced his final song of the night. The crowd erupted in mixed protests, which was not lost on him. Jack appreciated the positive feedback. It made him feel validated in his efforts, like he was doing something right in spite of having been told the opposite in the past. His pearly teeth glistened under the lights, as he flashed a coquettish grin, the kind that could melt snow caps in Iceland.

He thanked his audience for the approbation with such sincerity it made a few of them feel special. The talent and charm he'd filled the room with that evening had lit a fire that would inspire several to walk away new fans.

* * *

After he'd disassembled his equipment from the stage and secured his guitars into their cases, he felt a small hand take hold of his bicep. His body tensed from the sudden intrusion on his personal territory, though it wasn't completely unexpected. Being approached after a show wasn't an uncommon occurrence and the gesture was welcomed, but since being discharged from the hospital and throughout rehabilitation, he had to reacquaint himself with normal social behavior. He'd never liked being touched but the shooting left him excessively on edge. He hated feeling neurotic. It'd been over a year.

He jerked his arm away as an instinctive response and quickly did an about face so his back wouldn't be turned and left vulnerable. Jack looked down into a pair of green-gold eyes that shined like beacons in the club's dimmed lighting. Eyes he'd seen before. They reminded him of maple leaves held up to the sunlight. His shoulders and jaw relaxed and he fell strangely at ease.

The friendly smile on her face reappeared when she saw his disposition softened.

"Hey Jack, I don't know if you remember me-"

"Jade Bailey," he finished for her, saving them from an awkward introduction.

Of course he remembered her. He had the memory of an elephant and always had been observant as a detective. The girl hadn't been the friendliest or most sociable person on the planet but neither had he been. He'd been too wrapped up in his own terrible relationship back then, one that felt more like a full time job. He definitely noticed Jade though, and her face was the same today, albeit a lot more made up.

Her lips were classically red; bold, and bright while her eyes were lined with a thick, black wing on each side. Cora helped apply the false lashes she didn't need which fluttered like butterflies readying for landing when she blinked. Her hair was fixed up real nice and pretty, curled and pinned to the side. A lot longer now than it had been as a teenager.

The acknowledgement prompted a corner of her mouth to curve upwards. She honestly hadn't been sure what to expect, if he'd recognize her or remember her at all. She hadn't exactly left a lasting impression that year. They'd barely spoken a word to each other but he remembered her by first and last name.

"I work here. I'm actually the next act after intermission," she explained when she realized her face must have stood in contrast with her casual attire; cuffed skinny jeans and ankle boots with a plain black tee and light jacket suitable for the late spring Detroit weather.

"Oh, the burlesque show?" responded Jack, slightly amused.

Burlesque was a step above stripping in his opinion. Women took their clothes off for money. Not that he had a problem with stripping. He'd been to his share of clubs, mostly dragged by Bobby and Angel. He knew better than anyone that you did what you need to in order to survive desperate times and was the last person who'd pass judgement but he always assumed Jade was from a traditional, well-to-do family. She'd transferred in senior year from a private prep school in the Royal Oak district.

"Vaudeville," she clarified, bringing Jack back from his thoughts.

"It's very similar but there's a lot more storyline to it. It's more of an entertainment act with comedy, kind of like Cabaret. A lot more technical forms of dance involved, including ballroom," she laughed, wrapping her babble up.

It was a social mistake or habit she didn't realize she had, unnecessarily telling people about random information they probably weren't as enthused hearing as she was telling.

Jack nodded, his dirty blond hair flopping over his eyes. It was his gesture of conversational politeness, feigning giving a shit about the difference between the two.

As far as he was concerned, being paid to disrobe publicly was the same however you spun it. Just be honest about it. Wrapping it in fancy packaging with a shiny red bow didn't class it up. Decent pornos have storylines but that doesn't change what it is.

He just thought it was an interesting turn of events for the girl who was once so stuck up and acted like she thought she was better than everyone, miserable and hating every moment she was there. Not that he didn't, but at least he attempted to go through the motions.

He couldn't help wonder if her reasoning for approaching him tonight had anything to do with the fact that he was now an up and coming musician and not just a low class, inner city kid.

He'd met countless women, and disastrously dated a few, that turned out to have been interested in him for ulterior motives. An old ex-girlfriend had recently reconnected with him conveniently after hearing about his career.

By the sound of Jade giving him an astonishingly perceptive and in-depth compliment, he felt a hint of conviction. Jack realized he _was_ judging her and that wasn't fair to her. That wasn't the way his mother taught him to treat women. This woman in front of him was four years matured from the girl he was holding her accountable for. Jade was a grown ass woman now. Here she was reaching out to him and he was making assumptions based on the past. Feeling regretful for his critical thoughts, he spoke up to make amends she was oblivious to.

"You know, I could use a beer at the bar right over there, the one overlooking the stage. Care to join me after your show?"

He spoke in a soft baritone, with a diffidence that was alien to the confident, commanding musician she watched perform so effortlessly on stage a few minutes ago. He looked so in his element up there, comfortable and relaxed holding his guitar, like he belonged there and no where else. The Jack in front of her reflected the introverted boy he once was.

Jade eagerly accepted, grateful for the opportunity to catch up with him.

They exchanged parting pleasantries and headed separate ways, Jade to prepare for her own show.

* * *

Jack loaded up the car he'd borrowed from Bobby and returned to the bar after being stopped by a few people wanting to chat - mostly compliment him - and take pictures. It was nice to have a local fan base. One perk of being stuck in shitty Detroit for the moment.

He sipped on a Miller Lite to get him through the show he was regretting staying for.

It began cheesily as expected. He was surprised to see it was a coed act. Everyone was dressed similar but not the same. Some of the men were shirtless with suspenders, others had suspenders over wife beaters, while the rest wore vests. The women were dolled up in long gloves, back-seemed stockings and glitter. Some more revealing than others though none topless or even in pasties as he imagined. However, there was no shortage of cleavage.

He spotted her, introduced as "Jade Dynasty" which he snickered at and noticed her outfit was the more conservative of the bunch. Her midsection was completely covered in a corset but she showed lots of leg. He was a leg and butt man. She had nice, toned, long legs.

At over 6'2, he never noticed how tall she was since he towered over everybody. She didn't have the most realistically perfect proportions but she had the body to be a model if she wanted. Tall and thin with a flatter chest and thigh gap.

The show started with creative, slapstick skits that used comedy to parody lowbrow society, taking it back to a classier time, featuring big band songs, going back to the glamorous pin-up style.

Between the excerpts, they transformed into technical dancers who clearly had formal training. The numbers incorporated classical ballet with salsa, swing, tango and jazz. Jade flipped effortlessly into a forward aerial like some damn gymnast. Bobby would have made some innuendo about her _bendiness_. Jack wondered how she could do that in heels without hurting herself. The skill she held obviously came with years of intensive training. He had no idea she was basically a professional dancer.

Four beers in - two of which by people who'd offered to buy him a drink - the show came to a close. Jack was pleasantly surprised.

If you're a male whose only reason for going to a Burle- _Vaudeville_ show is to be turned on, you'd probably be disappointed. If you're looking for grimy strippers that will show you a good time, this wouldn't be for you. Or Bobby. If you want to be entertained for cheaper than a Broadway show and see some talented performers, it was actually kind of fun.

There was something noteworthy about live entertainment, especially in an era of social disconnection and electronic isolation. Jack was old fashioned in that sense. He didn't have a Facebook or Twitter. He never even used the band's Instagram account before they went their separate ways. He appreciated face to face interraction. Raw, unfiltered, talent was such a rarity these days. It was one of the reasons he'd recently adapted to the acoustic guitar instead of electric. That and the nerve and muscle damage from his shoulder wound that benched him from performing as vigorously.

"Nice job," he complimented when the barstool beside him became occupied. "Jade _Dynasty_."

The brunette rolled her eyes at his teasing with a pained expression. Clothes changed and makeup removed, her skin glowed like she'd just washed it. Natural and healthy without crap painted over it.

"Please don't remind me. We were forced to come up with pseudonyms and I took so long trying to come up with mine I just chose my favorite video game before I realized how much more Asian it makes me seem," she laughed, ordering a drink for herself from the bartender who always took care of her.

 _That's_ what she was. He always wondered. She was obviously a mutt, obviously part white but he could never place the other half.

"Nerd alert," Jack murmured in a sing-song voice as he brought the bottle to his lips for another swig.

That earned him a high-pitched protest and prompt smack on the arm. He tensed. She didn't notice. Perception was his thing, not hers.

"I was talking about how you so casually used the word 'pseudonym' in a sentence," said Jack, leaning back in his chair, one arm out holding onto his lukewarm beer.

"Miami-Dade Spelling Bee champ two years running, representing," she threw up her hands jokingly, flashing a popular symbol.

With widened blue eyes, he instinctively scanned the room for possible threats. That type of shit was always in the back of his mind. Damn, this girl was sheltered. Didn't her parents teach her any street smarts? You can't go throwing gang signs in a city like this. Especially not a pretty girl. That's just asking for trouble. Then again, they weren't in the part of Detroit he called home. They were in the suburbs.

He bit his tongue, realizing he didn't know her enough to scold her and instead asked, "you not from Detroit?"

"I am for the most part. My brother and I were raised back and forth when we were younger. My dad is originally from there but my mom is from here."

Two things he didn't know; she had a brother and she lived in Florida at some point. He noticed she referred to her parents as _hers_ not theirs.

"What about you?" she asked, sipping some fruity concoction Jack wouldn't touch with a ten foot pole.

"My family tree is... complicated."

He wasn't sure how to follow her backstory without feeling like they were right back in high school. She was exactly the princess with the perfect little family he assumed and he was still the first class fuck up from a dozen broken homes. He sure as hell didn't have a mom and dad, annoying little sister named Susie, Rover the pet golden retriever, white picket fence, station wagon or tropical vacations. Not like she had.

"I'm from Detroit," he said simply.

She didn't need to know more than that. He wouldn't expose her virgin ears to half the shit he buried. They'd probably burst into flames and catch her hair on fire. He chuckled sardonically.

"Lived in New York for a bit though," he added, trying to add his part to the discussion.

He realized she was carrying the conversation, asking all the questions, showing all the interest, giving all the in-depth responses. Not that he didn't want to be there, he just wasn't much the caring and sharing type. Never have been. Especially with somebody from Wonder Bread Land who could never understand.

"Oh, nice. What brought you out there?" Another question.

"What is this, an interrogation? ...Sorry," he apologized when he saw her face, taken aback. "I was in a band. Went there for better opportunities. Couldn't exactly pursue a legitimate career in the industry in Detroit. Nothing but second-rate, half-assed talent here."

As soon as that sentence came out of his mouth he wanted to pull out the foot that was in it and swallow the words back up. He was just being a bitter little bitch, upset by being dumped by the band _he_ created and left in Detroit indefinitely for physical and occupational therapies after nearly being killed by the scum who murdered his mother. He genuinely hadn't directed that comment towards Jade but that was understandably the way she took it.

"Oh, sorry you had to stick around for that abomination I call _my_ career. Don't let me keep you," sneered Jade, clearly pissed off. Justifiable.

God, he was coming off as such a condescending prick. Terrible with words but magic with lyrics, however that worked.

Jack felt like a total dick upsetting a girl to the point where he was the reason her face fell from a smile to a scowl in two seconds flat.

"Jade-" he started, attempting to reach out to her as she stood.

She ripped out of his grip and chugged the rest of her drink before she slammed it down on the counter, hard. It nearly broke in her hand.

"Oh, I think you dropped something, let me get it for you," she said.

She leaned down below his waist, reaching for something near his long legs. He was confused. He didn't see anything from what he could see around the back of her head. She popped back up like a jack-in-the-box, nearly catching him under the chin and flashed another lovely hand gesture in his face. This one required just one finger.

"This is what you dropped. This belongs to you."

Satisfied with that, she quickly turned and made her exit.

That was a first. Not what he expected coming from her. Girl had a temper. Not that he could totally blame her from that insult. The bartender gave him the evil eye and a head shake while he cleared their drinks, including Jack's half full bottle, ignoring his protest at not being done.

"What is this, 'Cheers'? Bartenders eavesdrop on conversations?"

Jack stood up to leave, throwing a few bills towards the man who didn't look happy with his last comment.

Awesome. Pissed two people off within minutes. He wouldn't be a Mercer if he wasn't making enemies left, right and sideways. Ma would be _real_ proud.

* * *

 **Author's Note: Thank you for reading! Please drop a line to let me know what you thought :)**


	2. Readjusting

"This is so stupid it burns," a dissatisfied Jack grumbled in a barely audible voice.

Hospitals were supposed to be a safe haven, at least according to constitutional law. They upheld a standard of excellence, expected to be clean and disease free. To Jack, they stunk of iodine, hopelessness and bodily fluids. The room would light up like a Christmas tree at Rockefeller under black light, he bet. Enough splatters on the walls to paint a Pollock.

They weren't even in the worst wing. They were in the detached outpatient rehabilitation center, but the memories still hit him like a punch between the eyes every time he walked back through those frosted double doors.

It was like _knowing_ you're about to be pistol whipped in the face. The anxiety from the foresight almost worse than the blow itself. Jack wanted nothing more than to push that memory from his mind. Clear the cache and reboot. Forced to return to the place on a regular basis made that tough.

Over a year had gone by since he was admitted to the Henry Ford ER but Jack could never put enough distance between _that day_ and the present. It pursued him like his own shadow and haunted him like a bad dream on loop. The kind where you're running in slow motion. He couldn't shake it.

He'd gotten shot three times outside the Mercer home after a surprise attack by Sweet's hired thugs. Took a bullet point blank to the shoulder and two more in his right leg. He watched himself bleed out, knowing a main artery had been hit by the amount pooling out of him. There wasn't a thing he could do about it but try to fight off the overwhelming feeling of sleep that rushed over him like a relentless tide. When he realized help wasn't coming, he accepted his fate to die on the street before slipping into unconsciousness.

He hadn't expected to open his eyes again but when he did, he was immobilized with a cervical collar and secured to a stretcher. Bobby was running alongside, taking his hand in a vice-like grip while Jack laid motionless, unable to move or communicate. It was hard to understand what was happening at the time: if he were paralyzed or if he needed machines to keep him breathing.

In surgery, he'd undergone a delicate procedure resulting in hypovolemic shock which required a transfusion. Once stabilized, he was placed in the intensive care unit where he spent five weeks in an induced coma to prevent brain damage.

Gradually, the doctors woke him. He was greeted by a very relieved and near hysterics Mercer family, a considerable amount of facial scuff and the pneumonia he acquired secondary to being on a ventilator.

Dr. Patel explained Jack's injuries and aftercare. That he suffered nerve damage and how survivors face the expectation of a lengthy recovery and temporary or permanent disability. Lengthy wasn't the word.

The two following months Jack spent in long-term acute care were comparable to a prison on lockdown. You're not to leave until they allow it, they take your clothing from you, the number of personal items allowed is limited. Contact with the outside world is minimal, the food is horrible, smoking is banned. Anyone can come and go without telling you who they are or why they're there. You have little knowledge of what's going on, even for the most humiliating and invasive procedures. You are "housed" with one other patient or _cell mate_ as Jack saw it.

"Can it, Sir Kvetchalot and do what they tell you to," warned Bobby, thankfully interrupting Jack's flashback.

The younger Mercer rolled his blue -green eyes and reached his right arm across his chest as instructed. Then lifted his long arm directly overhead as Sherry, the physical therapist guided him through a routine exercise for his torn rotator cuff. There was always a Sherry at every medical office.

The muscles and tendons in Jack's shoulder had been damaged and while he'd shown improvement, he hadn't recovered full mobility. He hissed through the pain as Sherry straightened his arm out further than he was comfortable with.

"That's good, I'm not a contortionist," said Jack in a grating voice, willing the authoritarian woman to ease up.

It was obvious Jack hadn't been completing the exercises at home as directed. Sherry released him with a scolding glance and added a few notes to his chart. It made him feel like a child. As if he were in trouble for homework that was due and he'd shown up empty handed.

"But apparently you're a ballerina. Nice job on the barre by the way. You're a natural. You'll be ready for the grand recital in no time. Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy is a classic," smirked Bobby, not dissuaded to tease his brother in public.

"You're the former ballerina, Bobby. And they're parallel bars."

Jack was annoyed and not in the mood to scrounge up a witty retort. No environment was off limits to Bobby Mercer who _always_ had something to say. Why was he even there?

Bobby continued chiding, pointing out Jack's appearance. "With that lithe figure and long legs? You're practically a gazelle! What a waste." No limitations.

Jack growled, his blue eyes narrowed. It was bad enough to be forced to show up and perform these ridiculous, pointless tasks on a regular basis but when he couldn't even execute them properly, it was horribly emasculating. _Especially_ in front of Bobby who insisted on accompanying every session even though Jack was perfectly capable. He wasn't a complete invalid. God knows he could do without the background heckling.

"You can start packing up Jack. I'm just finishing up your progress report and then you're sprung to enjoy the rest of your day," assured Sherry, knowing the young recoveree was ready to bolt as usual.

Jack was positive the poor woman had enough of the ever-lovely Mercer brother charm for one day and wanted them out of her graying hair. He was happy to relieve her if it meant wrapping this visit up.

Jack gathered his belongings from their usual spot. Next to the water 'cooler' that only dispersed room temp. On his phone, he pressed the 'home' button to illuminate its screen. One missed call and voicemail from an unrecognized number. A few text messages from Angel, Nathan, and Regina. He grinned, unlocking it with a quick thumb swipe.

Bobby jumped up and snagged the paperwork from Sherry while Jack responded to the two latter messages about a house party in Hamtramck his friends were trying to convince him to go to.

The brothers nodded to the older woman and exited for the car. They walked side by side, Jack with the slight limp that was now ever -present but slowly improving.

Bobby read aloud. "Patient has improved significantly since beginning treatment but continues to suffer from decreased strength, decreased range of motion, flexibility restrictions, scar tissue restrictions, and tenderness. Functional movement concerns are also present. This includes difficulty with walking, inability to put full weight through right leg, pain with walking up and down stairs, trouble sitting for prolonged periods of time and trouble reaching overhead."

Jack was busy listening to the voicemail. The progress report could wait. It didn't need to be examined right this second. He dismissed Bobby with a shush and wave of the hand. The elder disregarded the gesture and continued.

"This patient is functioning relatively well – slowly resuming activities enjoyed prior to their injury occurring such as playing guitar and sports such as hockey in short durations. Our goal through treatment is to bring this patient back to the level they were at prior to injury/surgery with limited physical restrictions. For this patient, the home exercise program is strongly recommended but is most often used while attending in- office PT sessions. He is only with us for 45 minutes, 2 times per week. For this reason, we try to use the time we have during our sessions to practice exercises," Bobby finished.

Jack pressed a finger to his other ear to try blocking out the interference. This was an important call. It was the booking agent from the club he'd played at a few weeks ago in Royal Oak with an offer.

Before the recording could finish, Bobby reached over and slapped the phone out of his hand. Jack fumbled awkwardly attempting to catch it and watched horrified as the expensive little machine hit asphalt and bounced like a bad check.

"Real nice! Thanks for that, Bobby!"

Squatting down to examine the device for scratches, Jack supported majority of his weight on his good leg. The elastic band of his sweatpants stretched low on his hips exposing his lower back. Bobby took the opportunity to shove the report down the inside of his brother's boxers. Jack sprang up quicker than he wanted with a yelp of pain, pulling the wadded up papers out the back of his pants. No end to the harassment.

"I thought faeries were supposed to be graceful."

Jack's eyes flashed in annoyance. "Not my fault you almost destroyed my phone. Not like you're gonna buy me a new one either." Not that it could replace his Clash of Clans high score.

He couldn't afford to buy a new phone every time it fell to its death. Any nice things he had, he made sure to care for.

Bobby shrugged an apathetic reply. "Shouldn't have disrespected and ignored your big brother like that. Daddy's got to teach the children a lesson or they'll never learn respect for elders."

Jack looks Bobby strangely and takes a second to respond. "I don't like that analogy at all." He blew the last bit of dirt particles from the phone, ignoring Bobby's comment about his expert 'blowing' skills.

"I've got to stop at Rite Aid on the way back," Jack makes a small muffled noise in the back of his throat while lowering himself into the passenger seat of the beater Bobby called a car. The seat barely reclined enough for his long legs to comfortably stretch out. He felt awkward adjusting his positioning with the belt strapping him back.

Bobby checked to clear the rear and reversed from the stall. The transmission stuck a second when he switched gears to drive.

"First of all, Rite Aid ain't 'on the way' to the house. Second, do I look like your fuckin' chauffeur, princess? Drivin' you all around town like a slave..."

"I'm aware. But I do need to refill my prescription. I'm not asking for a joy ride to Canada."

"Well I need a million dollars and all the beer and pussy I can drink and eat. Shit happens, we adapt. Might as well get used to the idea that we don't always get what we want in life."

There didn't seem to be any room left in the air for argument. Jack sighed, not enjoying the feeling of dependence. He needed to get his own car but it'd just be one more thing tying him to Detroit when he eventually left.

Bobby knew Jack missed his independence, prompting him to add to his previous comment.

"Look, this ain't no pleasure cruise for me either, Fairy. I need to drop you off home and then I've got to head out for a bit."

"Where to?"

Bobby fixed him with a side glance and simple answer. "Errands."

Jack snickered. "Normal errands or Bobby Mercer errands? Because in my experience those are two entirely different things."

"None-of-your-business, don't-concern-you errands. Don't worry about it." Jack had previously inquired about Bobby's new tendency to disappear on mysterious 'errands' and his explanation was much the same as it was this time.

He chose to let it slide for the moment since he didn't want to piss the hot-tempered man off today. Besides, his theories could be wrong but his brotherly concern would revisit the topic eventually.

"Well... I do still need my medication at some point."

" _Alright_ Fairy... Fuck!" Bobby shouted, aggravated. "Quit getting your pixie panties in a bunch. I'll pick it up on my way home in a few hours."

Compromise accepted. Jack seemed satisfied but Bobby knew his brother better than he knew himself, though that wasn't such a feat anymore.

"Fine, I'll get your damn ice cream too, you giant overgrown baby." Bobby does not take his eyes from the road as he responds with a smirk.

Jack offered his gratitude and grinned like a kid visiting a candy store for the first time. The way to his heart.

"Chocolate Malted Crunch?" Bobby makes a left turn at the green arrow.

"Chocolate Malted Crunch equals childhood," Jack nodded. "The good one."

Evelyn used to make stops there as a treat for the boys when they were young. Thrifty Ice Cream was her favorite in the sweltering Michigan summers as a girl. She liked to continue the tradition with her own kids.

Bobby found humor in the situation. "Does this make me your Sugar Daddy?"

"Definitely not. You're more... Sugar Free."

"Okay, smartass. You can be Sugar Cane. Let's get you home _gimpy_."

* * *

In his towel, Jack stood in front of the mirror having just come from a hurried shower. His long head of hair wet, darkened from the water, developing a mind of its own. It was getting wild. It required a lot of effort to style just right and it always ended up looking messy anyway. That would take at least another ten minutes. He pushed it back and out of his eyes for now.

With a still damp hand, he wiped the reflective glass to make a little window in the fog. He sighed loudly, scratching at the blond stubble on his chin.

"Guess I should shave..."

Cupping his hand, he spurted a dollop of foam to smear across his lower face. He wet the disposable blue razor and began to run the twin blades across his skin, removing the hair there. With confidence, his hands moved smoothly, applying just the right amount of pressure.

"Hey, yo, Princess!"

The blade slipped in his hand at the sudden and unexpected bang on the door as it was kicked open. He hissed as it nicked the skin, leaving a stinging cut in its place.

"Fuck."

No-boundaries-Bobby stood in the door way. They really had to get that lock fixed for a while now. "Got your ice cream in the freezer. Your drugs are on the kitchen table."

"You really have shitty timing." Jack dabbed at the small dot of blood that was forming.

"Ungrateful little bastard—"

"Actually, I'm glad you're back now. I thought I was going to have to take the bus. I've got to meet the booking agent for Royal Oak at three to talk about a contract. They're offering me a regular gig, week nights. It's no Madison Square Garden but it's steady pay while I'm in Michigan. We could seriously use that," said Jack. "And thanks for stopping at the store for me by the way. And letting me take the car."

"I like how you get ahead of yourself assumin' I'm letting you have the car, thanking me for something I didn't agree to yet," snorted Bobby. They shared glances. Bobby uncrossed his arms. "Have her back by six."

"You're a champion," Jack exclaimed, relieved. That'd give him an extra few minutes to finish his shave. Almost done. Just a few more spots around the delicate curves of his jawline.

"Got that right," Bobby nodded in agreement. "Listen, don't take those pills on an empty stomach," he instructed. Yes dad.

Bobby tried everything to make life better for his little brother and did his best to care for him. All he wanted was for him to be happy and safe. Same for Jerry and Angel. They'd gotten so close to losing Jack. He was scared to death something bad would happen again. He would do anything to keep them all protected from harm. To keep what little he had of his family in tact.

"And make sure you don't split them, they're time release. We don't need you trippin' balls, smearing baby lotion on the walls again."

That time Jack had a severe reaction to Dilaudid to the point of hallucination he ended up putting Johnson's in his hair, on his clothes, everywhere, because he thought it was the only way to get the smell of smoke out of his room and off himself.

Jack scoffed, wiping the last bits of shaving cream from his jaw. "That was one time with a different medication and they said I had an allergy."

"Whatever you say, Trainspotting. Better hurry and leave soon if you want to make it out there on time."

It was roughly a half hour drive without traffic. Then he had to deal with parking and validation. Hopefully he could snag a spot on the street that was reasonably close.

"Perfection can't be rushed," Jack smirked with false cockiness, running his hands over his face, feeling the now smooth skin along his chin and lower cheeks.

" _Sure_. All that primping and fussing over how fancy you look and you expect me to believe you're not gay. You could never live with a girl. You two would be constantly scratching each other's eyes out over the bathroom with the way you're eyein' yourself out in the mirror."

Jack shrugged, splashing some well scented after shave on, feeling the refreshing sting. "I've had no complaints. Women like a man who cares about personal hygiene."

It amused Bobby when sensitive Jackie tried to keep up with him. Jack was surprisingly well-equipped with a cunning wit and capable of the wickedest tongue if he chose to use it, but his softer nature kept him from doing so. Jack was strong. Possibly the strongest of the four. He could be a fighter if he wanted but he instead chose to be a lover, something Bobby could not identify with. He loved Jack for his personality, wouldn't change it, but the kid needed to be kept sharp the best way he knew.

"Read that in a book, did you?" teased Bobby, pushing himself away from the door frame and turning to walk down the hall.

"Hating me won't make you any prettier, Bobby. Only plastic surgery can sort out a face like yours," called Jack, shutting the door with his foot.

Atta boy.

* * *

 **Author's Note: Thank you for the faves/follows! Please R &R! I appreciate it all. Especially any verbal encouragement or critique :)**


	3. Tilt

Over the past few weeks, Jack settled into his new job like he was born into it—a natural. He was beyond grateful to have this opportunity in any capacity. Though in all honesty, a bit disappointed to learn that along with the humble week night slot came an approved set list of mostly _covers_. Despite this minor 'setback', he never allowed himself to sound unrehearsed or unsure which stood as a testament to his true talent. Whether it was blues he was performing, Motown, or a slow jazzy number, he took on the role of rock star with ease.

It was an unnerving move for a struggling musician wanting to transition his existing fan base to all original shows, but it was an honest start any hard working young man in the industry could appreciate. Jack hoped it would increase his chances of potentially headlining someday. It could get his foot in the door and open others. Royal Oak was hardly a shabby venue to have under your belt for a resume or a reference on top of the ones he'd played while in New York, like Freddy's or Silent Barn. The exposure alone could only prove beneficial to his future endeavors and he could only be appreciative.

Early on, he made the rounds of introductions to the crew and stagehands he'd be working with, and was relieved to find his new 'co-workers' seemingly more friendly than the ones at his last gig. The only downside so far was that they came across as heavy drinkers and partiers. Nothing like the corporate and clean-cut types, but that was an upside. They worked hard and they played hard what seemed like at least every other night with regular, unofficial 'happy hour' at Gusoline Alley or Goodnite Gracie, favored dive bars, both five minutes in either direction from the theater.

Tonight was not the first time an invite had been extended, but it was the first time he agreed to tag along. Jack was hardly fond of loud, crowded bars or clubs that served over priced, watered down drinks—with the exception of there being a band worth seeing or playing onstage himself. _Especially_ when filled with belligerently drunk frat boys looking for trouble and those sloppy chicks who can never seem to hold their liquor. It just wasn't his scene.

When Bobby dropped him off at work earlier in the day, the elder informed him that he would be needing their only car for the evening so he would only be available to pick him back up late that night, if he still needed a ride by that time. Cryptic as usual, blowing him off as always nowadays. The younger of the pair had developed his own assumptions regarding the answers to the questions brewing around in his head, admittedly from past history, but they were running late and stuck in traffic, so again it would slide until the topic could be revisited at a more opportune time.

At first, he planned on just paying the small fee to catch an Uber back home, because he couldn't wait around for x amount of time with all his shit at his side. When the guys at work offered to lock Jack's equipment up in their deck room overnight, he figured he should at least make the effort to join them so he could say he participated once in their boys bonding night or whatever the hell it was he'd now agreed to. Ma always encouraged him to not isolate himself as much as he would instinctually do on his own, but instead urged him to be with people, especially if they were extending an olive branch, grab on.

Dillon, the slim, wisecracking ladies' man let Jack know earlier in the day that the group would be meeting out back around ten and they were planning to walk over from there, if he wanted to join. It was a few minutes past that time. Van was nearly the last one out as he had tonight's lock up duties. Jack set his equipment in a corner and Van secured the room on their way out. The two men in their twenties sauntered outside together, making small talk along the way. Van was short for Giovanni, he learned in that short time, but nobody called him that because his last name had enough syllables in it already, the older man joked. His mother could also make a mean lasagna bolognese she'd send with him to work from time to time to feed his friends.

Having been jonesing since the end of his set, first thing Jack pulled from his leather jacket pocket was a crumpled pack of Reds, offering one to the other man as they stepped into the chilly Detroit night air, prompting Jack to wrap his outerwear tighter to his slender frame. It was nothing compared to winter, when it was biting cold as his ex's heart and just as unforgiving, but the heat of the spring was evidently a sun heat. As soon as it retracted its rays from the skies and hid away for the night, all warmth went along with it.

"Naw man, I'm just barely sipping on the pipe now," Van declined the offer, adding his theory of tapering off through different methods being less of a shock to the system than the cold turkey approach. Interesting guy.

Elijah, head of the running crew reached an arm out and accepted the cigarette for him, expressing gratitude, joining Jack in a quick smoke despite the little red 'no' symbol sign prohibiting it.

"Hey buddy, you made it out," exclaimed the lighting and sound guy, Ian. That accent was an eccentric one, completely unexpected coming from the guy who looked like a real life version of Danny Phantom.

"The more he drinks, the more Gaelic he gets," laughed Drew, clapping a tanned hand on his friends shoulder as he teased the Irish man.

"Sexy, isn't it?" smirked Ian, knowing the responses he got from women were all the validation he needed. Colin Farrell, womanizing wannabe. The accent and the widow's peak were where the similarities ended however.

An amused Jack laughed heartily at the bawdy jokes these men threw back and forth and turned his head to blow a puff of smoke away from the group out of courtesy, not yet knowing who was comfortable around cigarettes and who wasn't. It was nice to just be one of the guys. He always enjoyed time spent with women, but there was something special about a brotherhood. You didn't have to be delicate or careful. Men could be men around each other. Sarcastic jokes and teasing were used as insult delivery systems: rarely questioned, encouraged even.

It was also a pleasant change of pace to hang around a group of guys besides the other three Mercers for once. He loved his brothers beyond reason, but sometimes it bothered him to only ever be little Jackie in their eyes: Cracker Jack, the _Fairy_. They knew more about the dark parts of his past than he was comfortable with anyone knowing and they'd never be able to look at him differently, though in his heart he did know that they loved and accepted him despite it all.

Jack was undoubtedly the most effeminate of the four Mercer boys. Physically, he was the thinnest, with wider hips than he liked, skinny legs and a long torso due to his exceptional height—a body type that would always be naturally lanky in build in spite of workouts or weight lifting, something that he nor they had control of. In lieu of this trait he inherited at birth, he was hardly the weakest in strength and he knew it. He could easily overpower Jerry, give Angel a run for his money and at least put up a hell of a fight against Bobby.

Emotionally, he was the sensitive one of _that_ group, the mama's boy. They had to be delicate around _him_. _He_ was the girl in their circle and it was refreshing not to be typecast as such for once.

Dillon jogged back from a block down the way where he'd been unsuccessfully chatting up a pair of younger girls who seemed more indulgent than genuinely interested in what the blond who was trying to pick them up had to say. His ego unscathed, he announced to the group of men that he was ready to go and with Ian took the lead, setting a steady pace towards their destination. The foremost duo were blatantly unashamed in their superficial debate concerning their female co-workers, gossiping over which had the best physical whatnots. They were looking for validation and it was amusing to Jack who couldn't avoid overhearing the growing discussion ahead of him as from what he'd seen, there didn't seem to be much interest beyond platonically from the ladies' in question part. Besides Cora, who he quickly learned was in a long term relationship with tall, dark and handsome Drew. Drew who, from his own conversation with Van and Elijah at the back exclaimed protests at mentions of his woman's perfect, petite assets.

Jack fell into that awkward middle ground in which you're walking separate from both groups, not fully in either conversation but occasionally dragged into both.

If the night's activities were to correspond with the current topic at hand, Jack became aware that he'd willingly walked into a wolf pack. It became increasingly apparent that the guys were on the prowl for lambs. _Cool_. He hated the bar-fly, pick-up scene. It wasn't that it was patriarchal or objectified women. No, it wasn't that. He was hardly a saint and far from virginal—it was just, _awkward_. Not all, but most of the women he'd been intimate with had either been friends or he'd been introduced to by friends. There were the handful of groupies during his New York lead singer in a band stint and a few others here and there, but that was hardly his character. Nevertheless, the evening was one he'd already committed to so he'd suck it up, drag his ass across the street and cope.

* * *

After talking to someone like his brother all day every day for the past few days, Bobby needed somebody a little less... _dramatic_. As of late, it was embarrassing—for Jack—to say that it wasn't a very short list. He was starting to remind him of a mother hen, flitted here and there, while keeping one eye on him at all times.

Not that it would have been all that much greater, but Jackie could have made a pretty decent therapist had he not chosen the noise making path as a career. At least it would have been a steady living and provided him promised income every other week.

Jack had that sort of steady voice that soothed nerves and a demeanor as that of a first responder to a jumper call. The type that gets you to do something good, but manipulates you into it by talking circles around you until your head is second guessing everything and you give in. Sadly for Jack, his tricks don't outwit him. The kid picked up on a lot just by paying attention, but Bobby knew how to cover his tracks well enough. Sorry kid, big brother would always be older, wiser and keen to any and all scheming attempts. It was him who perfected that skill in the first place. Besides, the whole objective was to keep Jack out of it all and he would not fail him twice. It wouldn't happen again. Not even close.

At a busy little all night diner sat in the heart of the city they called home, Bobby strikes up conversations with the trendy locals of Corktown— _Detroit's oldest neighborhood_ , the town motto Mayor Duggan shoved down throats in an attempt to mask its reputation and disguise crime for character, as well as the elderly regulars who look like they've been coming since World War II. Anyone willing.

This was Bobby's hands-on effort to gather information on the recent disappearance of Lydia Frank, aged 18. The woman was last seen around ten o'clock the previous evening talking to someone in a car outside the 24-hour eatery, where she had dined inside alone just before, but nobody saw the driver.

Frank was not the first young girl to have gone missing over the past few months, she was just the latest in a string. People seemed reluctant to talk about it, simply accepting it as one of those unfortunate things that just happen in the world from time to time.

At first there was an open investigation, but after finding little to no leads, the police began to give up and it was already becoming a cold case. When no bodies turned up after search efforts, they suggested the girls simply ran from home. It happened occasionally, especially around these parts. He just never believed that in this case. The time-frame was too coincidental not to be related. The police weren't exactly people he could go to, saunter into their station and ask to re-open the investigation. They'd either throw his ass straight out the door or somehow manage to turn it around on him, queue the questions with their compasses flipped, pointing to the wrong direction.

"'Odd', I thought. I turned and I said to Harold, 'that's a pretty nice car for this neighborhood'. Didn't I say that, Harold? It was a beautiful car..." The old woman's husband agreed.

Bobby knew to avoid questions that could be answered by a 'yes' or a 'no' response, in an attempt to get potential witnesses to open up and tell their stories without fear of reprisal or judgement. He wasn't there for that. He made sure to choose his interview targets strategically, namely the chattering busybodies who obviously like meddling in the affairs of others, their heads constantly swiveling about. That was how he used to feel about people of the sort, but now, he considered any given information a useful piece of the puzzle. At this point, he would take what he could get.

"It was a black car with blacked out windows," Harold noted.

 _Of course it was_.

Those were hardly rare. Even Angel had one, except his wasn't so nice that it'd be raising any red flags around sketchy neighborhoods like this. You'd think a Jarhead could do better than a secondhand, used Toyota. At the dealership, Bobby had tried his best to bully him out of his decision and into something more upmarket since he could afford it, but Sofi wasn't having it. She wouldn't stop going on about saving for their 'future'. Damn woman wasn't even married to his brother yet but was already dictating their lives, getting a head start on the role of a wife.

Bobby cleared his throat to hopefully interrupt their meandering thoughts and resent their attention to him. "Can you recall anything significant about the vehicle at all? Any distinguishing features that would make it stand out, like a scratch or a broken tail pipe?"

"I'm sorry, I'm afraid I'm not very up to date with the different types of car brands out there and Harold's eyes just aren't what they used to be. We had just gotten back from visiting our son Douglas up in Flint. He would know. He's always been so good at tinkering with cars." She was starting to babble.

It was nearing eleven that night, he didn't have time to stay and chat.

"Not a problem ma'am. You've both been very helpful. Thank you Gladys, I appreciate your time," he smiled as warmly as he could muster out of respect to his elders.

He nodded to the older man across the table as he stood to take his leave. "Sir."

Bobby took a last sip from his coffee cup before tossing it in the trash. It wasn't that great. He could buy a bag of Folgers and make a cup himself, it would taste the same. Guess coffee is coffee.

Good for the ma' and pop' behind it, but he never understand how they managed to stay in business for as many years as they have. It was iconic, he'd give them that. He remembered stopping there in his youth because it was one of the only places in the area open at all times of night, the time when he was usually out in the city and up to no good. Not that different from tonight it seemed.

He stuffed a generous bill into the tip jar that was perched at the counter with a drawn on smilie face on his way to the door, both to support the family run business in a struggling economy and to not have been completely soliciting their customers.

He wasn't exactly thrilled with the information, or lack thereof gathered in his sweep of the area but according to his watch, he had about nine minutes before the rendezvous which was at least fifteen minutes out on the other side of town. Typically, he showed up when he got around to it, but tonight he was eager for the gathering so he could be brought up to speed on anything he might have missed.

* * *

Some people will naturally stand out in a crowd of other attractive men and women. Not necessarily as the best looking but simply because of a certain glow or aura they seem to radiate outward to others in an inexplicable way. These people intrigue you. You're compelled to stare for longer than is socially appropriate. Jade Bailey was one of those people.

After a few moments of scanning through the faces in the room, Jack unexpectedly landed on hers: eyebrows furrowed in concentration and lips scrunched in an almost devious smirk. She was locked down in a game of pinball. Jack wasn't sure if anyone else noticed, but to him she was a beacon of light in the room, smiling and spirited and the onlookers around her responded.

It may have been significantly influenced by a combination of animated facial expressions, positive body language and a healthy complexion which generally reflect a strong personality and command attention. She inadvertently got his. It wasn't her tanned skin or the hazel eyes that contrasted against her dark hair. Jack had always thought she had a pretty face but there was a difference about her now as a grown woman. Charisma?

The screwing up of her mouth and scrunching of her face was oddly endearing. She was having a good time and it was plain for the eye to see. Rare in the age of plastic people who pride themselves on keeping an emotionless face. She wasn't worried about looking stupid. Her mood reflected heavily on her features. Although Jade herself didn't realize it, she wore her emotions on her sleeve and they weren't lost on someone as receptive as Jack. It was cute, when she wasn't scowling at him or flipping him off. Even then, it still was, in a slightly condescending way, like when girls play sports and suck at it. The few small cheers of encouragement surrounding her accompanied by her own implied that wasn't the case tonight.

* * *

For most people, spring is the most beautiful season of the year. The season where sun light returns to awaken dormant life. It signifies new beginnings, new things coming to life—a welcomed change from the chill of winter. For Jerry, it felt like the exact opposite.

"Make yourself at home," Jerry said in a voice that was anything but welcome.

It was just a meaningless phrase intended as a social nicety. The second eldest Mercer was far too polite to say what was really on his mind. Whether he liked it or not, this woman was his elder. When he spoke 'for better or worse' in his vows to Camille, he understood the terms that came with it. This was one of them.

He wasn't a perfect man but he was a good father, so it was his responsibility to lead his children by example, to show them respect even to those who don't deserve it. He did want his daughters to know and love their Granny, especially since she was now the only one they had left. God, he missed Evelyn.

Still, that didn't mean he didn't aspire to become like Van Gogh and cut off his own ear with every word the overbearing woman spoke.

Newly divorced—pity, her ex-husband was the light of that relationship—Ms. Tina Walker was the kind of woman that blames you for everything that goes wrong in her daughter and your lives. The type of person who repeats passive-aggressive mantras like, "I'm not mad", "whatever", and "I thought you knew" just to irritate her son in law. Any compliments were backhanded at best. There was always a punch in them somewhere.

"Jeremiah, congratulations, I hear you'll be starting a _real_ job soon." Punch.

"Jeremiah, I'm _almost_ impressed. This is a decent home for _this_ neighborhood." Double hit.

His favorite, "Jeremiah, you're looking _well_. Did you gain weight?"

To which he's learned to respond. "Of course! Ten pounds. I hate it when my clothes fit." Belly slap, huge grin.

Ms. Walker also happens to be a master of ruining the endings to TV shows and movies because in her opinion, they weren't worth seeing anyway.

As a family later that evening, they'd all sat through an animated Disney princess movie _twice_ —their usual weekend treat for the girls. After being tag teamed with a twenty minute whine session, Jerry and Camille agreed to allow them to stay up for just one more as Grandma was here 'special to see us', so another two hours went by on some bad Lifetime romance chosen by the guest of honor herself.

After tucking their two sweet 'angels' beneath the covers of their matching pink comforters, it was adult time now. Camille and Tina were catching up on mother-daughter chat over their newly renovated kitchen while finishing up the dishes that had been left soaking from dinner. Jerry kicked up his feet and started his previous recording of the latest episode of Game of Thrones.

Children are always going through new phases and Amelia's was difficulty getting to bed and staying put. Her parents had been allowing her to sleep in their bed because it was easier than saying no to their little girl, but they'd been trying to reclaim their room and enforce that she stay in her own, like the big girl they reminded her she was now.

Throughout the night, she kept wandering into the living room and kitchen before being ushered back in by one of the adults. That child was an Energizer Bunny running on lithium. The trick was to remain consistent and patient. Though exhausting, it always worked after so long.

Of course, Tina had to interfere with their parenting method because she disagreed and that wasn't the way she'd raised her children.

"Thank you for your suggestions Tina, but this is what all the books on childcare and childhood development suggest and they've been working for us so far."

"Oh, you're a _book_ parent." That punch again. She always made sure to leave Camille out of it as the use of the singular paren _t_ suggested.

"Mom, really, let Jeremiah put her back to bed, she'll be fine. Why don't you go and relax on the sofa and watch the show? I'll take care of the dishes." Poor Camille, always tried to be the mediator. She insisted her mother was simply clueless. Jerry unfortunately had to disagree with his wife.

Because she was clue—no, _inconsiderate_ by nature, Tina dropped the biggest spoiler in television history.

Most days it's worth the crap she puts him through ten times over for what he and Camille have together. Not today.

It may have been a trivial issue to upset over, but Jerry waited all week to see if Ned Stark gets killed or not. After everything going wrong at work and the preparation of this yearly visit, he'd had enough for one day.

The rational side of Jerry knew that all work weeks wouldn't be nearly as stressful and that in seven days, his home would go back to being a four person habitation. He wasn't feeling very rational at the moment. He just had to get out of the house to cool himself off before he said something he and Camille would regret.

As a young man, Evelyn had taught him a few tricks to calm himself. She'd always tell him, "When you're stressed, your body goes into what's known as 'fight or flight' mode. It's always better to remove yourself from an upsetting situation to avoid doing or saying something stupid out of anger."

Over time, he learned what worked for him was to simply walk away. Not taking a few deep breaths, not counting to ten and back again, but to remove himself from the situation entirely. That's how he'd managed to keep his nose clean as long as he has. That technique didn't work so well for Bobby. Not for Angel either. Jack was a bit more like he was in that sense. Jack got moving and changed his surroundings, but unlike Jerry, he internalized most of it.

"Ladies, ya'll don't get to see each other that often. I think it would be a good idea for ya'll to spend some time together without me in the way. I'll get out of your hair and go get a midnight snack. I'll make sure to bring you back some pie."

"Wait, Jerry—" Camille started, hollering after him, but he was out the door, with his jacket being pulled on as he jogged for the car and out of the lair.

* * *

Cora sat alone with Lacey after Jade ran off to snag her turn, their bags and jackets strewn across the small booth, claiming it as their own for the duration of their stay. The girls were less than thrilled with the cramped seating arrangement, but it was the one available which they fought for when they first arrived with nowhere to sit. It was busy for a Wednesday but it got that way occasionally, especially on nights like tonight when there was a popular fight on Pay-Per-View that the bar would be broadcasting.

Tiny but loud Cora stood up and hollered the guys over as loud as she could, hoping they would hear her over the crowd, waving to her honey in particular. The sweet couple smiled when their eyes met. The men took that as their cue and the two groups joined to become a larger one. Guess it wasn't guys' night after all.

"Damn! Do all fine men run together?!" Lacey, the wild card new hire slurred.

Lacey had only been hired a couple weeks before Jack had and was still in the probation period yet her behavior in and out of work was hardly a reflection of that. Cora was the veteran and meshed with Jade right away, Lacey, not so much. The littler of the two gave a discreet eye roll she wished Jade shared in that moment, instead of leaving her with the crazy. This is what they'd been dealing with _all_ night.

After the greetings and pleasantries were exchanged, they couldn't all fit together so a few from their group dispersed with various excuses: 'need to use the restroom', off to 'say hello to someone' and the popular, 'going to get a drink at the bar, does anybody want anything?'. Jack was one of the latter, eager to get himself nice and liquored up. Hopefully this place wasn't too expensive. Aside from the overcrowding and the tacky nineteen-fifties Americana decor that he actually didn't mind, it wasn't a bad place. It was the definition of dive bar and had a true Motor City locals-only feel to it. They had a large, fully stocked bar and Jack was elated when the bartender confirmed they carried his rare favorite, Johnnie Walker Blue Label.

Part of him wanted to be _that_ guy who could say 'first round's on me' but at thirty-five dollars a shot and only recently receiving steady paychecks, he thought better to pop for a cheaper alternative for the now extra large group. Bobby would kill him for several reasons. First and foremost, why didn't he treat _him_ to a round of Blue Label shots? At least he knew where to get it for future reference without having to buy the entire bottle.

"Nine shots of Jack for the table please," he ordered, still scanning the impressive shelves lined with various amounts and types of alcohol.

"Whiskey man?!" Feeling the warmth of another body against him, Jack turned and was greeted by a heavily reeking of booze Lacey. Maybe eight shots was good for the table...

"Yep. Thought everyone would like a round of Jack to start the night off." She clearly was in the lead of drunkest and had a head start on them. _Cheater_.

"I definitely would like a round of Jack. Ha! Jack drinks Jack... That's funny!" she grinned, pretty gray eyes glistening.

 _No it fucking wasn't,_ Jack thought, _it wasn't even funny when I said it. It was obnoxious and it's obnoxious now._

In her defense, it _was_ funny if you were the first person in the world to come along and make that joke. At twenty-two, it was hardly something he'd never heard before.

"Jack drinks lots of things with high proof..." he trailed off absentmindedly, rummaging through his worn leather wallet. _Too many fucking receipts in this damn thing_.

He didn't mind it when Spacey Lacey started tracing the tattoos on his forearms that were peaking out from under his pushed up sleeves with her blue fingertips, complimenting them, inquiring about the significance of each. When she lifted her sheer black top to share her own ink with him, she obliviously confirmed that she wasn't wearing a bra, _that_ had Jack scanning the room for some assistance with the drunk girl. Typically, a pretty girl taking her top off in front of him was _nothing_ to complain about and he wouldn't kick her out of bed but this was the first sighting of the not so elusive sloppy-can't hold her liquor-chick he wasn't in the mood to deal with. He didn't come here to babysit a mess.

The few that lingered back at the table were engrossed in their own conversation, which Jack couldn't understand how they were even having one over all the noise coming from that side of the bar. Dillon and Ian were off somewhere socializing and hadn't reemerged since.

Jade was no use. Even when she glanced over and he was sure she saw them too, she only continued on with her game.

There was no way she was leaving her post any time soon to babysit a drunk girl she didn't know or like _that_ well, especially since she was about to finally move up her highest score to second place.

When Jade glanced back a second time though, Jack saw the flicker of amusement on her face and realized she was getting a kick out of it. _Evil whore_.

Large, greaser looking bartender to the rescue, interrupting Lacey's exposition. "Here you go, bro. Nine shots of JD." _Good man_.

Jack threw a twenty plus five down on the bar counter to cover the round, including a generous tip that didn't go unappreciated. Not too bad. Lacey stuck close by his side on the short but maze-like way back to their friends. At least she helped carry a few glasses while surprisingly managing to keep them all in tact and undropped, only briefly did she dip a finger into one. That one was going to be hers.

This girl was _so_ easy. He could probably take her into the back room and fuck her blind right then and there if he wanted to and there would be no objections or hesitation on her part whatsoever. Actually, Lacey _was_ pretty cute—a little bit on the bigger side and annoying as fuck, at least in this state but the girl had a nice face and a toned dancer's body. Bad news was written all over that situation, though. It would for sure be more trouble than its worth with this one, especially since they worked together. Besides, he'd sworn off women with a personal goal of at least a year to focus on bettering himself as an individual and his relationship with his family. He'd even turned down Regina, who clearly had feelings for him, last month at Damien's party in Hamtramck. If a nice girl like her couldn't keep him, despite her efforts and obvious interest, there was little hope for Lacey and she didn't strike him as the no strings attached type of girl. She was definitely more the key your car type.

They situated themselves back at the table with the rest of their drinking buddies and handed out the shots on the table, careful not to spill any.

"Alright, so we need to toast—"

"Shut up and drink already," Dillon interrupted Cora as he appeared from behind, grabbing a glass and re-joining the group.

The now seven standing in their circle clinked their glasses together like a game of bumper cars and threw them back. A few of them talking about how much they can drink while the rest of their mouths were busy actually transporting alcohol.

The scene before him was playing out as one he rarely sees in which he's drinking in a social situation, not at home drinking by himself. Most of his new coworkers seemed the type who liked to get drunk to loosen up a bit, relax and have fun for a mostly social aspect. Getting drunk to get drunk is what alcoholics do.

Staring at the bottom of his glass which now contained nothing, he needed another drink. Catching a cute waitress' eye, he signaled for a second round.

* * *

It was late and things were real quiet there at night. In his room at the Magnuson, Angel sat and pondered the past twelve hours. It had been thought out and planned ahead of time, although he passed it off as an overdue albeit casual getaway despite the six hour drive north to the Upper Peninsula. The involvement of his brothers was a given. Their mixed family backgrounds was evident in their contrasting personalities. Each brought dissimilar ideas and opinions.

Jerry's recommendation was to do something out of character so it would stand out as this big, grand gesture. Jack suggested an intimate surprise involving her friends and family. Bobby was for traditional. Take her out to a nice dinner, drop down on one knee like a man. The advice from the only brother who maintained a healthy, functioning relationship seemed like the safest bet.

He took his on again, off again girlfriend Sofi kayaking on Lake Superior, to the picturesque shoreline known as Pictured Rocks, where dramatic wave-cut cliffs rise from the crystalline waters in spectacular, unusual formations.

Angel, who'd done around ninety percent of the paddling, largely as he preferred to take on the physical work over continuing to listen to her complaints, announced he needed a minute to rest. It was a picture perfect stopping point, so she obliged and drew her phone out.

An impressive wind carved arch was about two hundred yards ahead of them. The couple took a moment to appreciate the natural wonder. Life was still, giving the illusion that they stepped into a watercolor painting. The remote landscape had a calm about it, a calm Angel wished he could feel. _What if she says no?_ Besides the waves lapping against its familiar shores, all that could be heard was the wind—a sharp contrast from the city in which they'd grown accustomed, where constant noise, people and street lamps had become their comfort zone.

"Angel... this is _unbelievable_ ," she spoke in awe, snapping a few photos.

Michigan arguably is home to some of the most epic scenery known to Mother Nature. The metropolitan areas have their own charm, but it was unbelievable to think a city like Detroit shared the same state lines as such unadulterated beauty.

"Angel, are you seeing this?!" Sofi exclaimed, glancing back at her long time love.

"Girl, I got eyes. I see it. What do you think I brought your fine ass out here for? I can tell you right now it ain't for the arm workout. I can get that at the gym," he cackled.

"Well, _maybe_ if you let us take the guided tour instead of insisting we go out on our own in an area we don't know, we would be able to do more now. Loco!" Sofi grumbled, her Colombian accent thick and angry. Like a switch. _Girl is bipolar, I swear._

"Baby, just be quiet and trust me. Did you really want to be surrounded by a group of strangers?"

"If it meant we could step foot on dry land to look around at some point, yes."

They were told by the rental company that without a tour guide, they would not have legal authority to land at the national park without a permit and would need to turn around. Not one to care about observers, Sofi let Angel have it back at the Munising city dock because she couldn't understand why he was being so stubborn. It didn't seem safe or smart to depart from the group just for some privacy. The only reason she agreed to it was because Angel did have combat water survival training. So if anything happened, he'd be the person to be with.

"Sof, the best views are going to be right here from the water anyway. Unless you've decided you like camping all of a sudden, there's nothing for your ass up there!"

"I'm not talking about camping, Angel! I mean the shorelines that you can get out and walk on like by the caves and the arches. It would have been nice to have a picnic or something there, but you don't think ahead about these kinds of things..."

Angel was unsuccessful at wrangling a grin back. It was like a chain reaction, prompting the response, "why are you laughing at me?! Don't you make fun of me!"

He hadn't earlier, but _that_ made him laugh. Sofi was always one for the dramatics, a histrionic. The woman had a propensity for turning mountains into molehills. If somebody raised their voice, in reality they screamed at her. If someone grabbed at her, they actually struck her. Her theatrics worked to both ends of the scale. When Sofi was happy with Angel, she was beyond cloud nine. When things with him were good, they were incredible. When he treated her like a princess, she felt like a queen.

When she loved something, she loved with all her heart. When Angel was on the receiving end of that love, it was the best feeling in the whole damn world. Her beauty was stunning, but her personality is what had him fallen. It made her who she was, which wasn't always easy to love, but he didn't want anything else. That was the reason he felt ready for the next step.

Losing his mother and then nearly his little brother readjusted his perspective. The time Jack laid in that coma destroyed him. Sofi was a silver lining in a very, _very_ dark cloud. Hell or high water, she was there for not only him but his family, even helping with Jack's sponge baths and changing. Family over everything. Truly, she became a part of theirs. Time to make it official. Each member had already given their blessing. Bobby's came in nothing less than jest, "go ask your girl to become Loca Mercer before you come to your senses and change your mind".

Angel refocused his attention to the fiery brunette to his front. "You want to go be a little cave dweller? By all means. Your wish is my command, Wilma Flintstone. See if you can chase down dinner with a stick and a rock," he laughed, even, white teeth glistening against his dark skin. He started paddling for the caves.

She splashed him. His eyes narrowed. Water dripped from his bald head onto his forehead.

"Stop that." He splashed her back.

"No." She splashed him harder, spraying icy cold droplets directly in his face.

"I'll leave you here." His handsome face donned a serious expression.

"Oh, so that's why you brought me here, huh? No witnesses." She had to have known he was joking, but either way she was pissed.

"Stop being ridiculous."

"So now I'm ridiculous?! Cabrón!"

While Sofi continued rambling on in Spanish, not stopping when he tried to interrupt, Angel grabbed hold of the smooth layers of sedimentary rock to use as an anchor, pulling their kayak towards solid ground and himself onto the shoreline.

"Thought we are banned from the land," remarked Sofi, in a mimicry of speech, accepting Angel's hand nonetheless. He badly wanted to tease her for her rhyming skills, but refrained.

"You talkin' like this is some damn treaty line. Not like no coast guard gonna be patrolling. Besides, when do we Mercers follow the rules, anyway?"

Brushing herself off, Sofi followed her man as he led them into the entrance of one of the waterfront hollows. It seemed dangerous and a little frightening to be there alone. If a rogue wave came, they'd get swept out.

" _You_ Mercers don't follow rules," she replied, distracted.

Big, strong Angel Mercer never felt so anxious. Never took a bigger risk to potentially be humiliated and devastated. Their past had been a rocky one. He hoped she could overlook their obstacles as he'd done.

"Well, I was hoping we could change that."

* * *

The audience surrounding Jade came and went throughout the past thirty minutes. Motivation to place a higher score kept her glued to the machine. She danced and sang along with the music during the brief but frequent moments of down time, sneaking a few sips of the first and only drink she'd ordered. A few guys lingered around the sidelines, looking determined to accomplish one more thing before ending their night, yet not a single drink had been offered as of yet until one Jack Mercer sauntered up with his long legged strides, carrying a dangerous looking shot glass.

"You couldn't have jumped in or thrown me a lifesaver?" asked Jack, handing her a shot with her name on it.

It was a fair question.

"And drowned with you in that sea of tequila she's been swimming in all night?" she countered, raising the brown liquid to her nose which promptly scrunched. If she drank that, she would immediately vomit for sure. _He's trying to poison me._ The distaste on her features couldn't be disguised. A short laugh escaped from his luscious lips.

"Nice puns," said Jack, eyebrows raised and grin planted firmly on his handsome face. She set the shot glass down.

"Thanks," she smirked, batting her eyelashes exaggeratedly. _I can play along._ "Yoga every day does a body good."

 _Funny girl_.

Despite not believing he was totally in the wrong, Jack had been meaning to apologize and clear the air since they'd be working together. However, the few times he'd actually seen her within a ten foot radius, she was either with some blonde little girl or wore a loud and clear fuck-off face directed towards him. Message received. He was hardly inept at reading people. Now was as good a time as any.

"I wanted to apologize for insulting you that first night."

"My skin's a little thicker than that, Mercer. It'll take more than a faux pas to make me break down in tears on the spot."

 _That's a blatant fucking lie_. Unconvinced, Jack took a swig of his beer and replied. "Are we doing last names now, Bailey? So it was my imagination that you were debating on throwing your drink in my face?"

"I _was_ going to punch you, but then I felt bad for the way your face already looks," she shrugged with a playful smirk accompanied by a brow raise. No resting bitch face here. Even when being one.

"Shots fired," he replied, hands raised in surrender, trying his best to act hurt. He shrugged off the small shiver that coursed down his spine at the tasteless analogy.

Jade pursed her lips in contemplation, he seemed genuine or maybe she was easily persuaded. "Apology accepted."

A few moments of comfortable silence passed between them, save for the classic rock playing through the speakers, the boisterous crowd yelling over each other, the boxing match with its commentators, and the constant clacking, pinging and chinging from the Star Trek themed game that had Jade bent over it for half an hour.

"So what exactly are you drinking that's so much better than whiskey?" Jack spoke up, nodding towards the neon colored drink she'd been working on the entire time.

"Liquid decadence, obviously," she sipped. "I'm actually not sure what it's called. I gave the bartender some suggestions and this is what she came up with. I think it's got Midori. It tastes like vodka and a harem of fruit juices had a baby. Wanna try?"

"I'm good." He may have been the _Fairy_ according to his brothers, but sweet drinks weren't his taste.

While the next ball was about to load into the trough, Jade backed away from the machine and held up her straw. "Stick." Raised her glass. "Mud." Dunked the straw into the bright green liquid, holding the glass up to Jack's mouth without breaking eye contact. " _You_."

 _This girl is such a brat._ She turned down his drink and had the balls to turn right around and call _him_ out. It was ridiculous but he allowed her to feed him a sip so, unlike _her_ , he would have a legitimate reason to criticize it. And it was no less repulsive than he imagined it to be.

Jack grimaced, motioning that he wished to spit it out. "Did you ask for something that was as close to antifreeze that you could drink without dying?!"

Stepping around her small frame, he snagged the untouched shot back and let the true decadent liquid shoot down his throat. Smooth.

Jack wiped his hand over his mouth and continued. "Let me know when you want a _real_ drink and not some radioactive cat piss from a Juiceman."

"Will do, Mercer," smirked Jade.

"Sounds good, Bailey," Jack responded with a matching expression.

* * *

 **Author's Note: So, new drinking buddies? Jack is attracted to Jade's tough girl facade, her overly expressive face and her dry humor. Jade is impressed that he keeps up with her teasing, calls her on her BS and throws banter right back at her.**


End file.
